


But Gone for Now Feels a Lot Like Gone for Good

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-29
Updated: 2010-07-29
Packaged: 2019-01-19 06:25:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12404841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: "I promise." One-shot, post-epilogue. Harry is sent on an Auror mission to capture the next Dark Lord - a little over a month before James' seventeenth birthday. "Three weeks," he says. But sometimes, promises are hard to keep. H/G, R/H, TL/VW





	But Gone for Now Feels a Lot Like Gone for Good

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

_-o- But Gone for Now Feels a Lot Like Gone for Good -o-_

"I _promise_."

The words ring in James' ears as he opens his eyes to the dark ceiling of his bedroom. He knows the day's weather is going to be pleasant: The sun, which isn't even half-risen, is a yellow brighter than Hufflepuff's Quidditch robes. James doesn't want the weather to be pleasant. He wants rain to pummel windows, and the sky to be so black it's almost night. He wants to crawl under his covers, curl up into a ball, and stay there forever.

James Potter _really_ wishes today isn't his birthday.

_-o- June 28th -o-_

The train chugs to a stop, and almost immediately the younger kids fly out the open doors, more than eager to lose their voices as they relay every detail of their first or second years to their families. Many of the seventh years are looking distinctly disappointed: Their time at the castle is done.

James chuckles to himself as he sees a small boy trip in his haste to drag his trunk off of the train. He offers the boy a hand up. Looking scared, the boy hesitates, but accepts it.

"You need some help with that?" James asks kindly.

The boy nods timidly. "Yes, please," he practically squeaks.

James laughs. "Calm down, mate, I don't bite. That's Al's job."

"Hey!" Albus protests, revealing two very sharp incisors. The boy scrambles backward, making the two brothers laugh again.

"Relax," says Albus. He pulls the pointy teeth out and holds them in his palm. "Fake. See?" He puts them back in his pocket.

Lily walks up to them, rolling her eyes. "You've been obsessed with those things since Uncle George gave them to you for Christmas. How long are you going to keep it up?"

"Until Mum makes me throw them out," Albus answers without missing a beat. "And then goes to hex Uncle George," he adds as an afterthought. He cracks a grin.

Lily shakes her head, muttering, "You're hopeless."

"I know."

Ignoring him, she turns to the boy and her other brother, who have been watching, the latter with light amusement, the former with uncertainty. "Sorry 'bout that," she says apologetically.

"Sorry 'bout what?" Fred interrupts, sticking his head out of the compartment.

"Nothing," says James, heaving an over-dramatic sigh. "Fred, get your arse out here and help me get this kid's trunk onto the platform."

Fred mock-salutes; they share a grin and drag the boy's trunk off the train.

"There you go," says James, once the boy is only a short distance away from his mother.

"What's your name, anyway?" Fred asks suddenly.

"Luke Castellan," the boy mumbles, eyes to the ground.

The two cousins exchange a glance.

"First year?" asks James.

A nod.

"Slytherin?"

Another nod.

James smirks. "I thought I recognized you. Don't worry, it gets easier next year. "

"Yeah," Fred jumps in. "You don't get lost… as much."

Luke seems to realize they're joking this time and laughs with them.

"James Potter." He sticks his hand out.

"Fred Weasley – the second." He does the same.

"The second?" Luke inquires quietly as he grips the red-head's hand.

The joy in Fred's eyes fades a little; now he's smiling only a sad smile, a half-grimace. "Yeah. The first was my dad's twin. He died before I was born. They were really close. Attached at the hip, my family always says."

"Oh." Luke doesn't seem to know what to say. "I'm sorry."

The older boy shrugs. "S'alright. Dad's pretty much over it. He says they were always happy, always wanting each other to be happy... He figured it would be an insult to his memory to… y'know, fall apart. Know what I mean?"

Luke smiles a little. "Yeah."

There's an almost-comfortable but not-awkward silence. Luke notices the same question reflecting in the cousins' eyes.

"My dad's in St. Mungo's," he mumbles.

James' gaze softens. "That stinks. Don't worry, though. My dad's been in St. Mungo's loads of times, and he's okay. He'll be fine, you'll see."

Luke brightens up slightly. "Well… bye."

"Bye," James and Fred say together. "We'll see you next year."

Luke gives them one final nod before dragging his trunk the rest of the way to his mother.

0o0o0o0o0o0

"Dinner!"

The pounding of four pairs of feet on the stairs is so not unusual that Ginny doesn't even notice anymore. She flicks her wand and the table is set.

Albus is the first one down, the top of his head much closer to the doorframe than it was over Christmas. He looks so much like his father, in an almost dramatic way – the light from upstairs leaves him silhouetted, only his facial expression visible. The determination he gets from Harry is set for hunger rather than fighting to the death.

Lily is next; she pushes past her brother as if he doesn't exist, and it makes Ginny want to laugh: She's hardly ever acted like that toward Harry, but their children look so much like them she can now imagine it perfectly.

James and Harry come down side-by-side, smirking somewhat conspiratorially. James still isn't quite as tall as his father – almost, but the difference that remains is significant enough to pick the two out of a crowd.

"What did you two do?" Ginny asks her husband in a murmur as he greets her with a kiss. Harry doesn't answer; he grins mischievously, eyes twinkling in a Dumbledore-like way. Ginny rolls her own eyes, but can't help smiling.

The food on the table is as good as ever, and Harry's family is highly disconcerted when he only picks at his plate, hardly involving himself in all the talk of classes and Quidditch. He beams at the news that Defense Against the Dark Arts is Albus' favorite subject, Lily's best, and James' second-best and second-favorite, but otherwise he stares blankly at his mashed potatoes, his brow furrowed.

Finally, Ginny sets down her fork. "Harry, _what_ is the problem?"

Many years ago, Harry would have mumbled, "Nothing," and brooded on his own. Now, however, he's experienced enough to know his wife doesn't doubt her cooking, and sighs heavily, resignedly, and stops pretending to pick at his dinner.

He pauses for a long time, obviously trying to choose his words carefully.

"We're going after Fuller," he says at last, very quickly.

Ginny freezes, as do the kids. The gravity of the sentence takes a moment to settle in their minds, and when it does, it crashes.

Travis Fuller has been the object of the Ministry's attention for almost three years. He's gathered followers, he's murdered, he's tortured, and, in the public's eyes, become the next Dark Lord. The Ministry – meaning the Auror Department – thinks he hasn't quite reached that level of intensity, although he's just around the corner. Harry has had run-ins with Fuller before, many times, and only one of those run-ins excluded a trip to St. Mungo's for an Auror. According to Harry, even though Fuller isn't Voldemort-level, he's Dolohov-level, at the very least, maybe even closer to Bellatrix's level – which, he says, is very, very serious.

Fuller and his followers – who call themselves simply "Pure-Bloods," to truly show their hatred for Muggles and their wizard linage – have dominated _Prophet_ headlines since they came out into the open by going on a rampage throughout Diagon Alley with a manticore. Harry has lost many of his Aurors to Fuller, some by death, some by career-ending injury, and some have even left on their own and joined Fuller. Those are only minor reasons why Harry has a deep hatred for Travis Fuller – he once caught a Pure-Blood scoping out Godric's Hollow (that Pure-Blood was arrested shortly after), and Harry took it as a personal insult that Fuller would dare target his family to get to him. From then on, nearly all of his time at work has been devoted to tracking Fuller down.

The silence is deafening. Harry, instead of avoiding their gazes, meets each of them in turn, at last locking eyes with his wife.

"Explain," is all Ginny can manage to get out.

"It'll be the final stand," says Harry, now fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "We've been preparing since January. We know where he is, what he's up to, who he's got with him – everything. All we've got to do now is get him, and it'll all be over."

Nobody speaks for a while. Then Albus starts firing questions in every direction.

"Who's going? When? For how long?"

"Al," says Ginny sternly, and he stops, looking slightly ashamed of himself. She nods to her husband, signaling him to answer. Harry sighs.

"We're getting all of the senior Aurors on the mission," he says, "and a lot of the lower ranks who're ahead of their game."

"What about Teddy?" asks Lily.

"And Uncle Ron?" Albus adds in.

Harry shakes his head. "No. They're going to be on stand-by, in case we need reinforcements."

"Is that likely?" James finds himself asking, astonished that he manages to make any coherent noise at all. Harry ignores him, and he doesn't really mind.

"We won't be able to Apparate or Portkey or fly in," he says, now addressing Ginny more than his kids, "because he'll have a bunch of detecting enchantments set, so we'll have to go on foot most of the way. We're splitting up into five groups, with places along the way to rendezvous and make sure we're all okay. The trails are all mapped out. The battle plan is set. We're ready to go."

"How long are you going to be gone?" asks Lily, voice full of fear.

Harry looks at anything but his family. "Three weeks, at the most," he mutters. "At least two."

"And… and when are you leaving?" James asks hesitantly.

"Harry, _when are you leaving_?" Ginny repeats, when he remains silent.

Harry swallows. "Wednesday."

There's a scraping of chairs and all three of the Potter kids throw themselves onto their father like they're small children again. Harry puts his arms around as much of them as he can. His chin on his daughter's shoulder, he looks at Ginny, who is no longer able to mask her worry. The look in her eyes chills Harry to the bone: He hasn't seen that desperate, hopeless look so intense since the war.

"Why are you bringing so many people?" she asks in a near-whisper.

The kids pull back slightly to look at Harry while he replies, "He doesn't just have a group, like Avery did. He's got an entire army. He has at least a third more people than we do, and that's with the entire department, which we aren't bringing."

James is backing away, unable to listen to any more of the evidence that points to the hard truth: There is a high possibility that his father may not return from this mission alive, or in one piece. He knows better than his brother and sister just how dangerous the work of an Auror is – he's done more research on it than his Aunt Hermione did on house-elves. _Don't think like that,_ he wants to tell himself. He involuntarily glances at Harry's right hand: _I must not tell lies_. Suddenly, he feels sick to his stomach and wishes he hasn't eaten dinner. He has to get away, _now._

"I – I… I'm going for a walk," James stutters out hoarsely. He turns on his heel, stumbles, and takes one last look over his shoulder at the rest of his family. Lily and Albus can't tear their eyes away from Harry; Ginny is staring at her eldest son, something in her gaze different than before; and his father looks at him with a mixture of pity, empathy, and so many other emotions James can't identify.

The front door slams behind him.

_-o- June 29th -o-_

There is a knock.

"James?"

Lily cracks her brother's door open and peeks in. He's lying sprawled on his back, in the middle of the floor, staring up at the ceiling. His curtains are drawn closed, making the room almost pitch black except for the sliver of light that is now seeping in from the hall.

Lily enters the room fully. She sits down next to James, crossing her legs.

"Jamie?"

James gives and odd grunt.

"Mum said to come downstairs for breakfast."

James grunts again, rolling over onto his side so that he's facing away from her.

"I know you're upset about this," Lily says. "We all are. But moping about it isn't going to do anyone any good."

"What's your point?" snaps James.

"My _point_ is that you're not helping. Al can't sit still, Mum won't look at Dad, and Dad is only looking at Mum. I don't know what you're so worried about, anyway. Dad can take care of himse –"

James stands up about five times quicker than she would have thought possible. He cuts her off, saying loudly, "You don't know what you're talking about!"

Lily looks as though she's just been slapped. " _Excuse_ me?"

"You heard me," he says.

"How do I not know what I'm talking about? He's Dad!"

His jaw clenches. "What about last time?"

She looks down. "Okay," she allows quietly, "that was bad, but he said he'd been in worse fixes."

"That doesn't make it fine, Lily!" argues James, his voice and temper rising together. Lily closes her mouth, biting back her scathing retort.

There is a tense silence between brother and sister. The latter spins around and is almost to the door when James continues speaking.

"When I was five…" he says. "When you were two…" He closes his eyes and appears to have a painful internal struggle for a moment. "Dad got in a _huge_ accident on a mission."

"That happens all the –"

"No, it doesn't happen all the time! Not like this!" James yells, losing his control. "You think you've seen Dad pale? He was _white,_ Lily, _white_! No exaggeration – there were Healers everywhere, and they wouldn't give Mum a straight answer when she asked if Dad was going to be okay. You see that and tell me Dad can take perfect care of himself."

Lily's mouth opens and closes like she can't decide whether to protest or not.

James keeps going, not speaking to her so much as rambling into thin air, "He probably won't come back, like he always does. He can't keep it up forever. His luck's got to run out sometime." He's breathing heavily and looking taller than usual, much too tall. His voice, which started out ear-splittingly loud, is back to normal volume, yet something in it isn't quite normal.

Lily glares at her brother with shining eyes for a few frozen moments before bursting into tears.

Immediately, James' face softens. All the fight goes out of him; he seems to shrink back down to his usual size, and he crosses the room in three long strides, gathering Lily up in his arms and letting her cry into his chest.

"I'm sorry, Lil," James whispers brokenly into her hair. "I'm so sorry."

0o0o0o0o0o0

His fist is raised to rap on the doorframe when he realizes that there is more than one parent present.

"…not getting any easier" – his mother's voice – "not even after all these years."

There is a heavy sigh that James recognizes as his father's. It makes him deflate; that sigh has become so frequent in the past three years it's depressing.

"I didn't think it would, Ginny," says Harry. "Neither of us did, you know that."

Ginny pauses resignedly to that fact before continuing in the smallest whisper James has ever heard from anyone. "I know. It just feels like… it feels like the war again, and you're going off Horcrux-Hunting, and you're getting almost killed every other week. It feels like you're breaking up with me again, somehow, and… and we don't know what's coming. We don't know that you're coming back."

James is momentarily distracted as his mind races. Broke up? When did his parents ever break up? They've never shown any kind of… hostility, or any dislike that he knows of. Before he can stop himself, he peers into his parents' room.

Harry's trunk is at the foot of the bed; clothes and other things are flying in and packing themselves of their own accord. Ginny is sitting on the edge of the bed opposite her son, watching Harry stroll around the room and tap things lightly with his wand to pack them.

The whole scene changes as Harry glances over at his wife. His face falls, and he kneels down in front of her, cupping her face in his hands.

"Ginny," he says, wiping away her tears with the pads of his thumbs, making her cry more, "I promised you, the day the war ended, that I would never leave you like that ever again, no matter what. I sealed that promise on our wedding day."

"Not without a trip to St. Mungo's," grumbles Ginny, rubbing at her eyes. She tries to turn her head away, but her husband holds her in an unbreakable gaze.

"I also promised you," continues Harry, his voice full of a tenderness James didn't know his father could achieve, "in your fifth year, when we were in our tree, looking at the lake, right after Dumbledore died, that I would _always_ come back to you."

"But you didn't think that meant much, because –" She stops herself, seemingly unable to go on.

"I thought I was going to die," finishes Harry, nodding slowly. He pauses, and then whispers, "That doesn't mean I didn't mean it with all my heart, Ginny." He kisses her for only a moment, and then says, once again in a quiet murmur, "I kept the promise. I came back. I fought for you – I'm fighting for you now, all of you. We both know that everyone close to me is in constant danger while a madman is out there, and it's my job to get rid of madmen."

"This ' _madman'_ nearly took your leg off last time, Harry!" exclaims Ginny.

Harry makes a face that says _I'm sorry._ He rubs the side of his left thigh, where a long, jagged scar wraps around his leg from his hip to just below the side of his knee.

"I'm aware," he says, somewhat dryly. "But I'm here, and you're here, and that's all that matters, isn't it?"

His voice is soft again. He's pulled Ginny into standing with him; she clings tight to him, wrapping her arms around his chest and resting her head on his shoulder. Harry lays his cheek atop her head and lets his eyes slide shut. They start swaying, as though to music, and James swears to himself he's never seen two people more in love.

"I love you," he hears his mother whisper, almost desperately. "Please don't leave me…"

He ducks back out after he hears a quiet, firm, " _Never_."

0o0o0o0o0o0

There's no knock. There are no footsteps, no loud breathing. There isn't a presence felt, like he's being watched. There isn't any indication that anyone is outside his door at all.

"Come in," calls James, before his father has a chance to announce himself.

Harry pushes open the door with a small smile, taking in the sight of his son, bed covers around his shoulders, sitting in front of the window. Without a word, he sits down next to James, legs bent slightly, elbows on his knees, wrists crossed.

"How –"

"I'm fine." James' tone is indifferent.

Harry looks at him calculatingly. "Tell the truth," he says.

James blinks a few times. "What?"

Harry sighs. "I was your age once, you know."

There's a pause. "Aren't you supposed to say, 'I know how you feel'?" asks James, more than a little taken aback.

Harry smirks. "I could," he allows, "but I don't. I may know what the feeling is like, I may know some of the things that are going through that messed up head of yours" – they share a weak grin – "but I don't know _exactly_ how you feel. I've never been in your situation." James notices the bitterness, the regret, in that statement. "I can't read minds."

He's lying through his teeth on that last sentence and he knows it. Legilimency is one of the most effective ways of interrogating a suspect. _He'll learn about it next year,_ he tells his guilty conscience.

There is another silence. James fumbles around to find the words, finally unable to help blurting, "Why aren't you taking Teddy and Uncle Ron?"

Harry looks at James thoughtfully, head tilted a little to the side. "You know, no matter how much Al and I might look the same, you are _a lot_ like me."

"Dad, just answer the question," James shoots back impatiently.

Harry sighs again, that same tired sigh James is so used to. He tears his gaze away from his son's face and turns it toward the night sky, watching the few stars that are visible twinkle high above them. He can still remember, all too clearly, times when he sat alone in the cold darkness, able to see all the stars and wishing on each and every one of them that his loved ones were going to come out of the war alive.

Some of the stars didn't fulfill their duties.

His eyes fall on the brightest star of all; Sirius is still with him, watching over him as he sleeps. Sirius keeps the nightmares away. His godfather's words come back to him, from a mild May morning – "We are part of you."

Harry looks at James again.

"Tell the truth," his son says, a little mockingly.

"James…" As he makes to protest that he deserves to know, Harry raises a hand to stop him. "The reason I didn't put Teddy and your uncle on the main team…" He runs a hand through his hair. _Merlin, this is hard._ "This mission is dangerous. I've put some of Fuller's top men in Azkaban single-handedly. He and most of his Pure-Bloods want me dead." He pauses to gauge James' reaction. James merely nods as though it's common knowledge, thinking to himself that if his father is shocked, it isn't registered on his face.

"Dad?" prompts James, when Harry doesn't resume his explanation. Harry gives himself a shake.

"The point is," he says, "I… I might not come back from this. A lot of us might not. And – and if I know your mum like I know I do, she'll be… she'll be lost without me, just like your Aunt Hermione will be lost without Ron, and just like Victoire will be lost without Teddy. If I die on this mission, this family may lose two members. I won't let it lose any more."

Harry avoids his son's eyes; James is so pale he looks like he hasn't seen daylight in months. He swallows hard. It's the most Harry has ever opened up about being an Auror to any of his kids, and James is finally beginning to see why.

Yet another pause ensues. James, after realizing his father isn't going to be leaving anytime soon, asks the first conversation-making question that springs to his mind: "When did you and Mum break up?" His tone is slightly angry, although it isn't intended.

James doesn't regret actually asking the question, but he does regret who he asked. Cringing, he turns to look at his father; Harry is looking back at him with nothing more than raised eyebrows.

"I'm not completely blind," he says in explanation. James continues to stare, making Harry sigh once more. "It's complicated, James… Dumbledore had just died. I'd hardly ever felt more alone. I knew for a fact that Voldemort would find a way to use everyone I was close to. If he'd ever found out we were together, he would have known right away that she was – that she _is_ my greatest weakness. He would have marched right into Hogwarts and taken her himself as hostage… and I would have gone after him, too. And then both of us would…" Harry takes a deep breath, and when he next speaks, his voice is much quieter. "I couldn't let go of anyone else I loved."

James sees so much raw emotion in his dad's over-bright eyes that he can't look at them. Settling his gaze on the stars again, he smiles to himself. So many of the other kids at Hogwarts – Muggle-borns, mostly, to be honest – say their parents are divorced. It gives him a sense of security to know his parents love each other so much.

"So… you broke up with her because you loved her?" asks James idly, still looking at the sky.

Harry grins a goofy, I'm-in-love grin that makes him look twenty years younger. "If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it's yours – if it doesn't, it never was," he says. "That's what Teddy's dad told me my parents used to say. They lived and died by it."

"So… you broke up with her because you loved her?" repeats James cluelessly, still smiling.

Harry laughs softly. "You wanker," he says, giving his son's head a shove as he ruffles his hair.

"Since when have you called _me_ a wanker?" asks James in mock hurt, putting a dramatic hand over his heart.

"Since you were born," Harry shoots back. "You would always start crying right as we got to sleep, just because you wanted to be held. Your mum and I would take turns falling asleep with you in our arms."

James flushes. "Sorry."

"Don't be. You were worth every second of it."

He goes even darker red. "Enough with all the mushy stuff, alright?"

Harry smiles as an answer.

Father and son are, once again, quiet. James feels comfortable, but he can't stand the silence. It's too heavy, and the thought that his dad will transform from this calm, peaceful person into a merciless, toughened Auror fighting for his life in only a day or two scares him. This is the kind of silence he might find at a funeral.

"Dad?"

"Hm?"

"What's a Horcrux?"

James knows immediately he's said the wrong thing. Harry stiffens, closing his eyes as though in pain. He opens them as he turns his head ever so slowly to look at his son.

"…I can't answer that," he says lamely.

"Why not?" demands James.

Harry blows out a long breath. "It's part of all the mess I got into at school."

"You told me you would tell me when I turned seventeen!" argues James.

"I told you I would tell you when all three of you when _Al_ turned seventeen, "corrects his father sternly, "and if you're going to act like a little kid who doesn't get his way, then it proves you're not mature enough to handle it."

"I'm the same age as you were!"

"Physically, yes, but I became an adult a long time before I was your age."

"What?" cries James. "That doesn't make any sense!"

"It would if you knew what I'd been through," says Harry gently, lowering his voice and trying to keep the fight from elevating any further.

James opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and says quietly, "I know. You're right."

"James… it's…"

He nods. The mood has darkened permanently, and is unable to be brightened again, as they both realize. Harry doesn't relax, sure that another question is bound to follow. Sure enough –

"When do you leave?"

His face sets determinedly, grimly, and he doesn't look at James as he says, "Early tomorrow morning."

"You'll be back for my birthday, right?" asks James.

Harry's face reflects his surprise for only a moment before he simply raises his eyebrows incredulously, saying, "I'll be back for _my_ birthday."

James keeps staring at him, pleading, expecting an answer.

"Yes, James, I'll be back for your birthday."

"Promise?"

Harry looks into his son's hazel eyes and sees so many things: His own father, in his last moments alive, desperate to save his family; Sirius, carefree and handsome, the ghost of Azkaban not yet haunting him; this same boy, eight years old, asking him to bring something back from his mission in Ireland.

"I _promise_."

_-o- June 30th -o-_

He wakes up naturally, without an alarm or anything else. The windows are open, and over the tops of the houses he can see the pink rays that precede the sun. Without a second thought, he kicks the sheets off his feet, rolls out of bed, and runs to the door. Throwing it open, he sprints down the hall, past his brother's and sister's rooms, and jumps nearly half the stairs, landing not-so-gracefully in the kitchen. He hurries into the sitting room.

James is officially the last one up, though he doesn't think of it that way – he was out flying all night, and it took him another two hours to even begin to doze off. He's running on a half an hour of sleep.

Lily and Albus are standing a little to one side, looking tiny, weak, and vulnerable, which James knows they're not. His mother is standing directly in front of his father, and the profile of her face is set and pale. Her eyes flicker to him for so brief a moment he could have imagined it, but he knows he didn't. Harry's eyes snap and lock onto his, full of _I'm sorry,_ and _I love you all so much,_ and _I hate this as much as you do,_ and, most of all, _I promise._

James swallows. He walks slowly toward Harry and extends his arms. Maybe it's childish, maybe it's silly, but he needs to know his father isn't saying his last goodbye. There are going to be more. He thinks his hopes may have fallen on nobody's ears, and he feels five years old again, watching Harry leave for that mission that would leave him so, so pale.

The peaceful illusion is broken as Harry gives him one final squeeze, pushing him away and turning him firmly by the shoulders. "If anything happens to me," he tells James in an urgent undertone, "you're the man of this family. Take care of them."

Throat far too tight to speak, his eyes stinging, James nods.

Harry turns to his wife. Ginny looks at him, and it takes only a split second for the space between their lips to become occupied. James turns his head, noticing that, like him, Lily and Albus aren't making gagging noises, like they usually do.

"I love you," their parents murmur at the same time.

Harry steps back from Ginny as though it's the hardest thing he's ever done. He looks at his family with an expression of pure agony on his face – then he closes his eyes, turns his back to them, and Disapparates with a quiet pop.

0o0o0o0o0o0

The day is spent without hardly a word to each other. Albus, with his mother's mumbled permission, Floo's to Malfoy Manor to blow off steam with Scorpius. Lily locks herself away in her room, asking Ginny to please, please put a Silencing Charm on the walls. James wanders the streets of Godric's Hollow, stopping, as he always does, in front of the cottage next door.

The homey little place is no longer hideously overgrown, as it once was. The yard is green and lush, and flowers – lilies – are planted expertly on either side of the front door.

The door is where the perfect picture falls apart.

The landscaping isn't what James stops to marvel at. The house itself holds so much history for him, for his family, that it is nearly impossible to resist the gravitational pull it seems to have on him. He drinks in the sight of it: The open curtains, revealing a small, comfortable, slightly dusty sitting room; the couch, the ghost of a wand being thrown down on it in ignorance; the baby boy in his blue pajamas; the green light that illuminated the hall to the stairs, and the nursery on the second floor.

A part of the roof is still blown off and blackened. When James stands back, he can see the old, old crib; there's a little strip on the top bar that isn't charred, like someone ran their hand over it.

James' brain simply fails to comprehend the horrible event that happened here so many years ago, and how much it affects his father, even today. The scar is still there, clear as the summer sun, but James considers himself lucky he's never seen it angry and red.

Harry always gets the same emotions in his eyes when he talks about James' grandparents: love, admiration, and, more than anything else, heartbreaking _longing._ He always says that they were normal people, but that their friends never failed to tell him how kind and golden-hearted they both were. James loves the stories Harry tells him about his namesakes and Teddy's dad. Harry never answers, though, when James asks who Wormtail is, and he stiffens up, rubbing the crook of his right arm. Knowing the kinds of things that happened to his father in his youth, James isn't sure he wants to know.

Sighing, he tears his gaze away from the ruined cottage and walks on.

0o0o0o0o0o0

They don't sit down to dinner that night. Looking tired and much older than usual, Ginny hands each of her children a plate of food, apologizing. Lily, James, and Albus give her understanding and sympathetic glances as they disperse, either to their room or the sitting room. James remains seated at the table, surprising his mother when she turns from the counter to take her own spot. Neither of them says anything while they pick at their food.

Finally, Ginny stops pretending to eat and pushes her chair out, walking out of the kitchen without a backwards glance.

_-o- July 6th -o-_

The first week with Harry gone is full of forced cheeriness and fake smiles. James isn't sure, but he has a hunch that his brother and sister received a talk similar to the one he had with his dad. Albus' face carries the same grim, uncertain expression that James knows is mirrored on his, as identical as their faces are.

The Potters get a pleasant surprise the following Wednesday, when the fireplace suddenly ignites with green flames as a rapidly spinning figure appears there – a figure with bright turquoise hair.

"Teddy!" gasps Lily, walking into the sitting room, and she vaults over the couch to give her god-brother a hug. Teddy grins at her and drops to his knees to be closer to her level. Lily gives him a smug look.

"You don't have to do that now, you know," she says, pride lacing her voice. "I'm taller."

"Yeah, _sure_ ," drawls Teddy, and he stands, throwing Lily over his shoulder like a stack of potatoes.

"Put – me – down!" she shrieks, between every pound of her fists on his back. It only takes a second for her to realize that it was the wrong thing to say.

"If you say so."

"Teddy – no!"

He throws her down on the couch, where she lands with an "oomf," laughing. Teddy, overbalanced and clumsy, topples over backward, hitting the leg of the end table and making the lamp on top of it wobble wildly. He scrambles to his feet, ready to catch it if it falls. It steadies; he breathes a sigh of relief, turning his back on it.

He hears a loud thud and a series of cracks.

"What was that?" three voices call down the stairs.

Teddy groans; Lily snickers, stowing her wand discreetly between the couch cushions. He glares at her.

"You little imp!"

"I know you are, but what am I?"

"I never should've taught you that."

"No, you shouldn't have," agrees Ginny, appearing from the kitchen. She gives Teddy a strained smile and wraps her arms around him. "What are you doing here?"

Teddy shrugs, his eyes the definition of trouble. "Nothing better to do, I suppose."

Ginny laughs; her daughter lets her mouth fall open in mock hurt.

"Teddy, you… you didn't want to see us?"

He just grins, raising his eyebrows. He leads the way into the kitchen, where James and Albus are seated at the table looking highly amused.

"What did you break?" asks Albus, smirking.

"The lamp," sighs Teddy, sliding into the chair next to him.

"Again?"

"I'll fix it!" says James enthusiastically – although less enthusiastically than is normal – and he jumps up and his halfway through the doorway when his mother grabs the back of his shirt.

"No, you won't," Ginny says, half stern, half teasing. "You're not yet seventeen."

"But I will be!" whines James.

"Yes," she says, "you will. So will Lorcan and Lysander, but you don't see them begging to do underage magic, do you?"

"They're nine! I'm sixteen!"

"Sometimes I wonder," everyone else mutters at the same time. They take one look at each other and burst out laughing; James pouts childishly, but can't help chuckling himself.

When they're able to breathe again, they sit in comfortable silence for a while until Ginny repeats, "Really, Teddy, what are you doing here?"

Teddy exhales, his hair fading into a soft bubblegum pink. Lily's lips quirk upward a smidge; she, of all assorted Weasleys and Potters, can read the Metamorphmagus' various hair colors like a book.

"The _Prophet_ sent Victoire to Venice to interview Antonio di Angelo about the alleged potion he's invented," says Teddy. "From what I've heard –"

"And by that you mean, 'from what Victoire's heard from eavesdropping,'" interrupts Albus, grinning.

"From what I've heard," continues Teddy, as though Albus didn't speak, "it's supposed to be a new version of the Wolfsbane Potion, except you only take it once a month, and not necessarily in the week before. On top of that, it cures all symptoms when the full moon gets closer." He makes a noise of disgust, rolling his eyes. He sighs and adds, "She'll be gone for ten more days, not including today."

The Potters each give him a sort of sympathetic grimace. Ginny gives him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder, a knowing glint in her eye. Teddy glances at her; she nudges him again, obviously restraining a smile.

"What's going on?" asks Lily suspiciously, noticing the exchange.

Ginny grins at Teddy. He sighs again, casts her a slightly dirty look, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a small velvet box. Albus and James' jaws drop; Lily stares at the box for a moment before letting out a shriek and tackling him in a hug.

"Teddy! Oh my God! This is fantastic!"

Teddy smiles weakly. While Lily's brothers offer their own congratulations (competing to see who can be more formal), he turns, surprised, to Ginny.

"Harry told me," she says simply, beaming. "You didn't think he'd keep it all to himself, did you?"

"I was hoping," says Teddy. Almost without thinking, he turns the velvet box so that it opens toward him and lifts the top. Lily, looking over his shoulder, gasps.

"It's _beautiful_ ," she breathes.

It is. Two strings of tiny diamonds wrap around the silver band, twisting and winding into each other's paths and untwisting and unwinding again. One simple diamond sits atop it; it glistens and glitters in an almost unnatural way. It's very uncomplicated, but also very elegant.

James lets out a low whistle and Albus raises his eyebrows in appreciation. Their mother takes the ring from him, looking over it more closely. With a smile and a snort she returns it to its keeper.

"Brilliant," she says. "French. So that's where you two went when you said, 'We're leaving the country, love you, bye, be back for dinner'?"

"Pretty much," shrugs Teddy, looking a little sheepish as he gazes at the ring for another moment before snapping the box closed and replacing it safely in his pocket. He looks up at Ginny again expectantly, as though waiting.

She grins at him, standing him up and hugging him tightly.

"Congratulations, Teddy," she tells him quietly.

"I'll be part of a family," he murmurs, almost to himself.

Ginny gives a half-forced laugh. "You already are, Ted," she says. "This just makes it official."

_-o- July 7th -o-_

Teddy makes plans to stay at the Potters' until his girlfriend – and fiancée-to-be, he hopes – returns, assured that he always has a bed with them, ad he can do whatever he likes with his old room. It feels right, usually, but now… he can't sleep.

Teddy doesn't know it, but he is just as good, if not better, at hiding his emotions as his godfather. It was harder when he was a teenager: His hair would always change on its own, giving away what he was thinking (to anybody that knew him, at least). Many years of practice combined with the optional self-control course Auror training offered helps him keep his thoughts and worries from showing.

Rubbing his face, Teddy rolls out of his bed, opting not to toss and turn for any longer. More stiffly than tiredly, he shuffles to his door and tiptoes down the hall and stairs, noticing as he does so that he can't hear the deep breathing of sleep coming from behind any of the other bedrooms he passes.

He quietly fixes himself a cup of tea. He pushes open the door to the sitting room and stops in his tracks.

Ginny is seated on the sofa, her own tea finished and on the side table that holds the lamp Teddy knocked over earlier. She shifts her gaze away from the window and onto Teddy as soon as she hears him, snatching up her wand faster than Teddy thinks is possible. It takes a few seconds for her to realize, by the light of a single candle, who is standing awkwardly before her. She lowers her wand with a relieved sigh.

"Sorry," she mutters, averting her eyes from him again. Despite knowing Ginny can't see him, Teddy shrugs and sits down lightly beside her.

"Can't sleep?" he asks rhetorically.

"Mm. You?"

He doesn't answer. They sit in silence for a while.

"Thanks for coming, Teddy."

"My pleasure." It's said with dry sincerity.

"It's just… it's hard."

"I know."

A tense pause.

"Do you?" says Ginny, more than somewhat icily.

Teddy makes a face. "You know that's not what I meant."

Ginny runs a hand through her hair. "I worry about him, all the time," she says in a low voice. "He always has somebody out for his blood. He's always going to be in danger – he's made a lot of enemies over the years, each more dangerous than the last. I'm… I'm not sure he can handle too many more. He always says he can take care of himself… look at what happened last time!"

Teddy bows his head, and she remembers who she's talking to and the impact her words have on him.

"That wasn't your fault," she tells him firmly. "You had no choice."

"Yes, I did!" Teddy explodes. "He told me to stay blow and be as inconspicuous as possible, and I didn't listen to him! He could've _died_ because of me!"

Ginny remains calm, but her eyes spark. "He _would've_ died if you hadn't been there, Ted. Someone else would've gotten him. You plowed him out of the way, and Fuller's _sectumsempra_ only got his leg."

"' _Only got his leg_?'" repeats Teddy incredulously; he's shouting now, but he doesn't care – the guilt has been slowly and painfully devouring him from the inside out. "I nearly killed him! I might as well be a murderer!"

Ginny raises her eyebrows slightly. "You should talk to Harry about that," she says, and she says it with a tone she always uses when she talks about the war. "He would know."

Teddy swallows hard, blinking rapidly. He thinks for a moment and turns pale.

"Not… not Sirius?"

Ginny sighs heavily. "He thinks it was his fault. I was there – unconscious when it actually happened, but there. He was never the same. It robbed him of the last of his innocence."

They're silent while Ginny thinks over her words. It's true, she tells herself defiantly. Just… twisted a little.

And she's right. Harry changed after Sirius died ("After I got him killed" is never said, but always seems to hang in the air). The effects were only so drastic after Cedric died ("was killed" is usually the exact quote, in hushed tones).

"That was poetic," Teddy remarks idly after a time, although his usual good humor is lacking.

"I'm not a writer for nothing."

"You're a journalist."

"I'm a writer."

"You're a journalist."

"I'm a reporter."

"…You're a journalist."

"So is Victoire."

Ginny smirks in victory, lifting her chin upward just enough to get on Teddy's nerves. He glares half-heartedly at her, but he can't help smiling a tiny smile. His gaze flickers to the kitchen and the stairs, up to his bedroom, where the velvet box is tucked safely into his pillowcase.

Ginny rests her hand on his arm. "She'll say yes," she tells him softly.

Teddy gives himself a shake, turning back to her, but he doesn't answer, and she isn't sure what to think. He hasn't touched his tea.

A long while later, she sighs again. "Go to bed, Teddy."

He does.

_-o- July 9th -o-_

_"What_ , James?"

Teddy's god-brother, aside from the unusual stillness, has been staring at him for the past seven minutes and thirty-two seconds (thirty-three… thirty-four…) as he idly snaps the ring box open and closed, switching it back to his pocket every so often. The book on his lap means nothing to him, but also everything – either way, however, it doesn't matter: His eyes refuse to take in any of the words.

James pauses, as though for dramatic effect, but somehow Teddy knows he's just choosing his words. James has been extremely quiet and contemplative during Teddy's visit, almost suspiciously so.

"What do you know about the war?"

Whatever Teddy expects, it isn't that. In a rare moment of lost control, his hair flashes yellow (from the day's current lime green), which is a sure sign of his shock. It settles back just as quickly.

"Not much," he says truthfully, and a bit resentfully.

James scrambles away from the window and sits himself in front of Teddy, legs crossed, suddenly seven years old again, wanting to hear all about Hogwarts. Taken slightly aback, Teddy passes a hand over his face.

"Voldemort came back in your dad's fourth year," he says, "but I don't know the details. All I know is that Fudge –"

"What?" asks James.

"Who," corrects Teddy gently, but impatiently. "Cornelius Fudge, he was minister back then. All I know is that Fudge didn't believe it."

" _What_?" repeats James, louder this time.

"That's what I said," says Teddy darkly. "The next year, Umbi – I mean, Umbridge - was the Defense professor, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione formed Dumbledore's Army. I talked to Neville about it once, and he said the D.A. probably saved his life."

A pause, and James lets out a low whistle. "A bit melodramatic, don't you think?"

"Not if you've ever seen him when someone asks about the Sorting Hat," says Teddy. "I don't know much else about that year – Harry never tells me" – James scowls in sympathy – "but Fudge got his head on straight in June."

He stops to collect his thought while James comments, "Dad must've been happy."

"It came at a price, James." Teddy's voice is so quiet James doesn't know if he can be sure he heard correctly. "Sirius was killed by Bellatrix Lestrange."

Both boys bow their heads slightly as a sign of respect.

"Things only got worse from there," continues Teddy, still seeming saddened. "Since Voldemort was out in the open, he didn't have to worry about making murders look like regular accidents or Muggles' doings. He was torturing Muggles and Muggle-borns, killing, plowing down anyone who stood in his way."

The reality of the words take a moment to sink in.

"Dad," murmurs James.

Teddy bites his lip a little, nodding slowly. "And Dumbledore. Dumbledore died at the end of the next year, and that was pretty much it. There was no one who could stop Voldemort, and he used it to his advantage – he put the new minister under the Imperius Curse, placed Death Eaters all inside the Ministry, put Death Eaters in _Hogwarts_ –"

" _What_?"

He goes on as though there was no interruption, "– and he formed the Muggle-born Registration Commission."

James swallows, thinking this doesn't sound too good.

"The Ministry –"

"Meaning Voldemort."

"– made up some cock-and-bull story that Muggle-borns who had no magical blood anywhere in their family line acquired their magic by force. They were interrogated, and hardly any missed Azkaban."

James struggles to get the words out. "Aunt… Aunt Hermione?"

Teddy shakes his head. "You'd be able to see if she was ever in Azkaban. It leaves its mark on people."

James knows there's more behind that, but he can't help breathing a sigh of relief. He's never felt the presence of dementors – Kingsley got rid of those years and years ago – but he's heard stories from all kinds of people how horrible the affect they had on people was.

After a long pause, Teddy says, in a tone that implies the story is coming to an end, "There's a lot more that I don't even know about… and some things that you just really don't need to know."

If James is disappointed, he hides it well. Sensing what his god-brother really wants to talk about and also honestly curious, he asks, a little hesitantly, "What do you know about Sirius?"

He waits, sure that Teddy is going to tell him the same things that his father tells him, but things he never gets tired of hearing.

"He did things with his heart," starts Teddy, and James feels an odd satisfaction in the familiar introduction. "Almost everything he did was for people he cared about, especially your grandparents. He promised them he would take care of Harry if anything happened to them, and after spending twelve years in Azkaban and completely abandoning his godfatherly duties, he felt guilty for leaving him. Then everything he did was for Harry."

James is silent for a while, once more fully understanding why his parents gave him his middle name. He sees that Teddy's hair is fading to its natural sandy brown, gradually shifting to pink the closer it gets to his ears and neck. He stands up and walks away, leaving Teddy to his thoughts.

_-o- July 17th -o-_

As the day of Harry's return draws closer, Lily and Albus grow happier and happier. They are unaware, as their mother and brother aren't, that the further away from two weeks and nearer to three the date drifts, the less likely it is that Harry will be coming back at all.

The house is silent and the sitting room empty when there are three sharp knocks on the front door. Ginny is upstairs in her office and, although the sound is clear as day, she hears nothing. Outside, Albus has convinced his siblings and god-brother to play a game of two-on-two Quidditch. They're so focused on the Quaffle – signed by all of Ginny's original Holyhead Harpy team, as a present for baby James – and staying low enough to avoid any wandering Muggle eyes that they don't notice the visitor entering the backyard.

Teddy is about to score a tie-breaking goal when he looks down to see someone watching them, him specifically. Even from a height of a good sixteen feet in the air, the visitor's wide grin is obvious, almost blinding. He immediately drops the Quaffle and speeds toward the ground.

"Teddy!" groans Lily good-naturedly. "We've been over this!"

But Teddy is temporarily deaf. Nearing the ground, he tries to jump off his broom gracefully and trips in the process, knocking over the visitor. Laughing, he props himself up on his elbows.

"Hey," he says softly. He smiles.

"Hey," says Victoire, beaming. They stare at each other for a moment before she fists his purple hair and forcefully pulls his lips down to meet hers.

"My eyes! My _eyes_!" screams James. Teddy rolls off his girlfriend, stands up, and offers her a hand. Victoire takes it, rolling her eyes at her cousin.

"It's _always_ you," she grumbles. James does the mature thing and sticks his tongue out at her, then leads the way back inside.

"Mum!" Albus calls up the stairs.

No answer.

"I'll handle this," Victoire says. She winks, and Teddy's stomach knots. "AUNT GINNY!"

In only a matter of seconds, footfalls are heard from the second floor and Ginny appears at the bottom of the steps.

"Victoire!" she says, greeting her niece with a hug. "How was it?"

Teddy realizes suddenly he never even remotely wondered about her interview. He looks at her with a lot more interest than before.

Victoire lets out a heavy breath, flopping gratefully but ungracefully into the closest chair. Teddy picks her up again and places her on his lap; Victoire wrinkles her nose and moves to another seat.

"You stink," she tells her downhearted boyfriend laughingly. "Go take a shower."

The Potters don't seem the least bit perturbed by the stench, and she isn't surprised. Folding her arms across her chest, she answers her aunt, "He was a stupid, inconsiderate, arrogant, self-centered _git_."

James makes a mental note to himself that she just recited everything his dad ever told him his grandmum said about his granddad, and to tease her and Teddy about it later.

Victoire continues heatedly, "He acted like he owned the world. He just sat there, looking at me like I was a dumb little kid, like I wasn't worthy enough to be in his presence. He already had a cauldron his stupid potion ready – he completely assumed I was going to ask to see it. It looked like regular Wolfsbane to me, and his test results were inconclusive." She huffs. "I've no idea _why_ the _Prophet_ even bothers with some people." She looks pleadingly at Ginny. "How do you not hate your job sometimes?"

Ginny laughs a little. "Because most people don't play Quidditch for publicity, they play it because they love the game."

James thinks he hears some nostalgia in her voice and suddenly feels slightly guilty. If he didn't come along when he did, she could've had at least another season. Then his proud side argues logically, _Oh, so it's your fault you were conceived?_ He restrains himself from snorting aloud with difficulty. He glances around to see if anyone noticed anything about his changing facial expression: Lily looks as though she's read his mind and is shaking her head sadly, mouthing, _Hopeless_.

Victoire exhales through her nose. "Some people have all the luck," she mutters. She sighs and sits further up in her chair; looking at Teddy, she says, "At least I'm back now."

Teddy grins widely. "At least you're back now," he agrees.

Ginny raises her eyebrows. "So I suppose it's back to the flat for the two of you?"

Just as the couple turns to exchange a glance, the three Potter kids throw themselves to their knees at Teddy's feet, grabbing at his ankles.

"No, Teddy!" wails Albus.

"We want you to stay!" insists James.

Teddy laughs. "You call that groveling?" he taunts, and Ginny and Victoire smile. "Psh. _Please_. I've seen Louis do better than that, and that's saying something. Ow!" he adds, as his girlfriend smacks him on the back of the head.

"That's my brother you're insulting!" she says, trying to be at least a little angry, but she's all-out grinning now, too.

"So?" says Teddy, and this time gets hit on the arm.

"You two sound like Ron and Hermione," says Ginny reminiscently, a far-away look in her eyes.

Teddy flushes faintly; Victoire beams. His hand reaches into his pocket of its own accord, and his fingertips brush the velvet box. Lily, James, and Albus notice the gesture and freeze, their hands still clasped together in pleas that die in their throats – and then the moment passes as he withdraws an empty hand, looking uneasily at them out of the corner of his eye.

"Pwease, Teddy Bear?" says Lily, quickly and effectively covering up the awkward silence. "Pwetty, pwetty, _pwetty_ pwease with sugaw on top?"

Teddy looks down at the three of them, their lower lips sticking out, their eyes big and round, and laughs again.

"James, you look like an idiot." He pushes him over backwards with a foot in his face. "Al, you don't do it right." Albus follows his brother, only this time by a shove on the forehead. "Lily…" Her mouth is twitching in the effort of not laughing, but she keeps it up. Teddy presses two fingers down on a spot on the back of her neck, where he knows there's a pressure point: Her shoulders shrug up involuntarily and she squeals, loud and high-pitched, before falling to the same fate as her brothers. "…I've gotten too used to it." The siblings lay in a small heap, laughing even louder than Victoire and Ginny and Teddy.

"Please, Teddy?" says Lily again, once she catches her breath. He looks at his girlfriend to see a smile.

"I don't see why not," she says.

"Yay!" shout James and Albus like little kids, hugging Teddy's legs. He kicks them off and stands.

"I'll go take a shower, then," he announces, with a grin and a wink toward Victoire. She stands, too, and while James looks disgusted, Albus smacks him on the head.

"I dropped my things off at Shell Cottage," she explains as she makes for the door. "I'll just grab a change of clothes and be right back."

From halfway up the stairs, Teddy calls, "And by that she means she needs to get a whole new wardrobe and makeup and all that other junk, so she'll be back after a six hour shopping trip in ridiculously high heels."

His god-brothers snicker.

"Hate you, Ted," says Victoire loudly enough for him to hear, and walks out.

"Hate you too, Vic," says Teddy.

Ginny smiles. "Just like them," she mutters.

0o0o0o0o0o0

When Victoire returns a few minutes later, Teddy is clad in nothing more than a towel, shuffling to his room to get the fresh clothes he so stupidly forgot to bring with him. Taking the stairs slowly, Victoire is less than pleased with the view of his toned, tanned back.

She stops dead in her tracks. "What the _hell_ is that?"

Teddy spins around, and his wet foot makes him slip. Quickly covering himself up, he asks in unison with four other voices, "What the hell is what?"

Victoire hurries over to him and gasps. " _That_ ," she says, pointing to his side: A thin scar starts just under his rib cage and gradually thickens as it reaches his spine. It's bright red, like a recently re-opened wound. Teddy shifts the towel to cover it.

"Nothing," he snaps. Glaring, Victoire makes a frustrated noise and pulls him into his room, slamming the door behind her.

"The walls are thin, you two!" James calls from the kitchen. "OUCH!" he yelps; his brother, sister, and mother all hit him at once.

Victoire ignores him. " _Colloportus_ ," she says, tapping her wand on the doorknob. "Put some boxers on," she tells her boyfriend sternly, and when he blushes, she adds impatiently, "Oh, come on, you and I both know I've seen your cute little arse more than enough times. Now get a move on."

Teddy scrambles to do as she says, and turns with his injury to the bed, where she's sitting, waiting, when he's done.

Victoire stands and walks up to him. She runs her hand lightly under the scar and brushes his spine; he shivers. Then she skims her fingers over it, tracing it, and Teddy visibly stiffens, letting out a hiss of pain. He completely recoils, covering it up.

"When did you get it?" Victoire asks without looking at him; her gaze is locked on the part of Teddy's arm where the scar his hidden.

"Last time," mutters Teddy, and he is staring intently at her face. "It… I…" He stumbles over his words. "When I pushed Harry out of the way. It was the rest of the _sectumsempra._ Only he and Ron know."

Victoire lifts her eyes to meet Teddy's, and his heart breaks a little at the intense hurt, the betrayal.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asks quietly, sounding to all the world an innocent toddler.

"I didn't want you to worry," Teddy murmurs, trying to inject sincerity into every syllable. He grasps her left hand and kisses the tips of her fingers, imagining, just for a moment, the ring already sitting there.

"I'm always worrying, Ted," says Victoire; her voice breaks after the first word, and Teddy pulls her to his bare chest.

"I'm sorry," he tells her after a few minutes. "I just… I don't even have an excuse."

"I know," says Victoire seriously, and Teddy's sure she's referring to the apology and his confession. Then she smiles. "Remember the promise we made, just before your second year?"

Teddy blinks once, stunned that she remembers. "Yeah," he says, "of course I do."

"What do you say to an updated version – the old-fashioned way?"

He smirks. "You're on."

Victoire offers her right pinky. Teddy takes it in the corresponding hand and offers his left pinky; she mimics him, only mirrored, so that her arms are crossed.

"Do you, Victoire Weasley," – _Lupin,_ he wants to add, so, so badly – "solemnly swear in the name of all that is magic to tell your boyfriend anything and everything that is troubling you, worrying you, frightening you, angering you, or upsetting you? To never, ever keep any secrets from him?"

The two of them spin, their arms over their heads, as Victoire says, "I solemnly swear." And they share a small kiss. Now Teddy's arms are crossed. "Do you, Teddy Lupin, solemnly swear in the name of all that is magic to tell your girlfriend anything and everything that is worrying you, troubling you, angering you, frightening you, or upsetting you? To never, ever keep any secrets from her?"

They twirl again, and Teddy hesitates for a fraction of a second, glancing despairingly at his pillowcase before saying, "I solemnly swear." Again, they kiss. They release each other's pinkies and almost at once re-link them, declaring together, "In the name of all that is magic."

They grin and kiss just one more time.

"Now put a shirt on before I'm tempted," says Victoire, and she unlocks his door, swaying her hips with a smirk Teddy can't see as she walks out.

0o0o0o0o0o0

"So, really," starts Teddy conversationally after dinner, "what did you think of Venice? I know the bloke was a git, but…"

Victoire's eyes light up. "It was _beautiful,_ Ted, it really was. And I know this sounds stupid, but Italian air is… really fresh."

Teddy smiles at her, his heart racing, a plan beginning to form in his mind with every breath he takes. "We'll have to go back sometime," he says.

Victoire nods fervently, her eyes on the wall. Teddy slides his hand into his pocket, steeling his nerves. _On the count of three_ , he tells himself. _One… two… three…_

"Vic –"

He's shifted in a position to be ready to kneel, the tiny box trapped between his fingers; she's already looking at him again, her mouth slightly open, the question on the tip of her tongue.

"Victoire," he tries again, but the rest of the words get stuck behind the lump in his throat. Before he can attempt it even one more time, both of them are more than adequately distracted by an either welcome or unwelcome sight.

A silver stag is standing in front of them, blinking slowly – flickering. Its caster is struggling to urge on its existence. It looks directly at Teddy, and he thinks for a moment that he's looking into Harry's eyes – Harry's pained, wild, desperate eyes. The stag opens its mouth and speaks with his godfather's voice: "Reinforcements. _Now._ Not going to hold out much longer…" The stag disappears completely, and then flickers back. "Wards down, safe for Portkey and Apparation. Fifty injured, twenty badly wounded. Four casualties." Teddy realizes what Harry's doing – he's distancing himself, emptying himself of emotion, so the brutal truth doesn't deter him from fighting. Harry sounds strained and desperate, and it is obvious even through the Patronus that he's panting heavily, grunting in pain. "Reinforcements," Harry repeats faintly, and the stag dissolves into thin air.

There is hardly a second of silence before there is a pop and Ron's head appears in the suddenly lit fire, pale and ashen-faced. "The Ministry," he tells Teddy, with a mixture of firmness, dazedness, and shakiness. "Fifteen minutes. The Riddle Room." And he disappears as quickly as he came, leaving Teddy so pale his hair matches his skin.

"What?" says Victoire, immediately capitalizing on her uncle's absence, and his message. "What's happened? What's the Riddle Room?"

Teddy stands abruptly. "It – I… I have to go," he mutters, and springs into action. He races into the kitchen and bumps into Ginny at the foot of the stairs.

"Teddy – what –?" she stammers, startled by his slightly crazed expression.

He seizes her shoulders. "Harry sent a Patronus," he says urgently; she has to understand, he has to make her understand. "They need reinforcements _now_. Four casualties…" It's all tumbling out – he's not entirely sure if he's saying it to actually tell her, or if it's because Harry's voice is still reverberating through his head and drawing the words from his mouth. "Ron Floo-called… fifteen minutes… Riddle Room…"

He pushes past her, pounding up the steps two at a time. Victoire charges after him and Ginny sinks, weak-kneed, into a chair.

"What's going on?" asks Lily as Teddy and Victoire pass, but she receives no answer, so she traipses downstairs to her mother, James and Albus not too far behind.

Teddy looks around his room for anything important he might need and tosses it into his trunk. After a couple of minutes, he groans in frustration and waves his wand, haphazardly pulling on his scarlet Auror robes. Victoire stands in the doorway, shell-shocked.

"But – Teddy – what – what was that?" she asks in a small, restrained voice.

He shrinks his trunk and sticks it in his pocket, uncomfortably aware of it pressing up against the ring box, and turns to face her. "Harry needs reinforcements," he says; it feels like only the first time he's said it. "He needs me. I have to go. I have to help him."

"…Now?"

"I have to go," he repeats, and walks swiftly past her on his way out. She freezes there for less than a second before going after him again.

"Teddy…"

He's embracing his adopted family. Lily is nearly in tears, clinging to him, but she stays strong, and Teddy's thankful – if any of them start crying, he thinks he might, too.

At last, Ginny has released him from her bone-crushing hug, and he approaches his girlfriend. Victoire launches herself on him, burying her face into the crook of his neck.

"Be safe," she pleads, running her hand again over his scar; chills run down his spine. He nods, knowing nothing he says will really matter. He lifts her chin, stares into her over-bright eyes, and gently presses his lips to hers.

With a lead weight in his stomach and a tightness in his chest, his lungs, his heart, he looks at them, his family, and walks out of the kitchen, being sure to close the front door loud enough for them to hear.

Albus lets out a trembling breath. "What's the Riddle Room?" he asks tonelessly.

It's James who answers, trying to steady himself. "It's one of the briefing rooms," he says, his voice low and hollow. "One of the emergency ones. It's got enough space to hold the whole department and then some. Huge planning boards, diagrams, maps. Records of some of the Darkest wizards, both captured and free. Families, too. It was used most back during the – the wars." He half-glances at Ginny, whose face is a mask. "They hardly use it anymore. It's, uh… it's named for Voldemort. It was mostly used for planning against him and the Death Eaters. I read about it," he adds unnecessarily.

Albus nods. "Right," he says. "Okay. Emergencies. Got it."

Victoire inhales deeply. "Yeah. I think… I think I'll go stay with Mum and Dad."

Ginny squeezes her shoulder. _I did the same thing._ Her niece nods to herself and takes the Floo, the whooshing, rushing sound swallowed by the silence.

_-o- July 18th -o-_

The following two days are filled with more worry than the first two weeks combined. Ginny knows very well – and so do her children – that Harry wouldn't call for help unless he's on his death bed, metaphorically speaking (she hopes). The thought that he might be in trouble, trouble that, this time, he can't get out of, makes her feel just a little colder inside, like during the war.

James strolls casually past his mother into the sitting room. "Bye," he says.

Ginny leaps up from her study of today's _Daily Prophet_ , nearly overturning her tea. She grabs his arm. "Where are you going?" she demands.

He makes a small attempt to shrug her off. "Uncle George's shop."

She bites her lip. "Alright," she allows. "But be back before dark. If you need something, or something happens, tell Neville and Hannah straightaway, don't go trying to fix it all by yourself." She thinks of Harry, rushing off to the Ministry to save the last piece of his family without a thought for himself.

James nods and heads over to the fireplace.

"And James?"

He turns, looking right into her eyes, and her breath catches in her throat. Those eyes staring back at her aren't the ones her son has had since birth; they're filled with worry, doubt, and hopelessness, and Ginny suddenly hates her husband so much it hurts. That's why they fought in that damned war: To make sure no kid would ever gain that haunted, desperate look.

She breathes out slowly, runs a hand through her hair. She could never hate him.

"Be careful."

The whisper carries across the deserted room so clearly she might be standing right next to him.

James doesn't roll his eyes, or make an exasperated noise, or sigh, or anything else of the sort. She's looking out for him. She doesn't want any other part of her family to leave, and for the first time, he understands how she feels. He doesn't _know_ – he's never been in her situation, not exactly.

It doesn't stop his stomach from lurching.

James walks back to Ginny, more than a little touched by her concern, because he knows and she knows that he can take care of himself: Both of his parents continue to make sure of that. He bends down the slightest amount and hugs her, welcoming the familiar warmth.

"I promise, Mum," he murmurs into her ear.

0o0o0o0o0o0

He stumbles out of the fire at the Leaky Cauldron, barely catching himself in time to avoid a face-full of floor. He attempts to brush the soot off with at least some dignity, but more to avoid the attendees' stares than to be clean – George will give him robes to change into. He's saved when Hannah glares sharply at all of them as she balances a tray on her hip, sending them rushing to pick up their conversations from where they left off. Neville chuckles from behind the bar.

"Hey, James," he says. "What're you up to?"

James shrugs, trying his best to be offhand about it. "Going to the shop," he says, taking a seat in front of his father's friend. "After next year, he'll actually pay me if I decide to work there."

Neville raises his eyebrows. "Are you going to?" he asks.

James shrugs again. "I dunno," he says honestly. "Maybe." He scratches at the woodwork of the counter.

Neville sighs, reaching under the bar and coming up with a butterbeer, which he sets in front of James. "James Sirius," he muses aloud.

James looks up without raising his head.

"James Sirius Potter," says Neville. "That's a lot to live up to in a name." James stays quiet, gazing thoughtfully into Neville's face. "Your granddad – a famous prankster, generally well-liked… he gave up his life for his family. Sirius Black…" Neville laughs harshly. "What a great life he had. Disowned by his family, his best friends died because of another best friend, wrongly accused of murder… he escaped Azkaban and died trying to protect the last of the family he had left. And…" Neville looks directly at him. "Your dad."

James swallows.

Neville smiles a bit. "He hates his fame, y'know." Of course he knows. "He hates that heads turn whenever he's in public. He hates that his name is in the tabloids when he stops in front of a random shop. He hates that he's always getting endorsement offers, that reporters try to invade his privacy, that people ask him for his autograph… But more than anything else, he hates what he's done to you."

James only barely stops himself from crying out in confusion, settling for letting is mouth fall slightly open.

Neville regards him with something akin to pity. "Your parents didn't have a name picked out for you when you were born," he says. "When they finally got one…" He whistles low. "It really didn't register what they'd put on your shoulders until it was announced across the papers."

"So, what?" says James, when Neville walks away to drop a few rounds of firewhiskey near some already very tipsy-looking men. "They hate my name?"

Neville shakes his head, still smiling just a little. "No," he corrects gently. "They hate what else the name holds. But y'know what?" He meets James' gaze with intense brown eyes that could be a thousand years old and have seen everything. "It's not the name that makes the person, it's the person that makes the name."

James searches Neville's face for anything that signals even the barest trace of doubt. He finds none, and for once, out of all the times he's heard that, it feels like the truth, as solid as the fact that the sky is blue and the grass is green. This isn't his mother or his father _just saying that_ , it's a family friend, with kids of his own in the same situation, telling him those words with such conviction and sincerity that it's almost impossible not to believe him. And maybe, right now, if only for a moment, the barrier between student and teacher that is always there, even in summer, is torn down, and it is just friendly advice given from an older, wiser man to a somewhat lost young adult.

James nods quickly a few times. Neville smiles, claps him on the shoulder, and moves away to monitor the men at the other end of the bar with the firewhiskey. James sighs and grabs the butterbeer, standing. He's halfway to the door when he turns; being sure to catch Neville or Hannah's eye, he dips his hand into his pocket and produces a Galleon, which he flips into the air, watching with satisfaction as it falls with a clatter to the countertop.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Normally, he doesn't stop whatsoever in front of the door, but he hasn't been doing anything normal lately anyway – why stop now? he thinks. So James pauses, looking at the large silver plaque hanging over the doorway.

_Re-opened in Laughing Remembrance of_

_Fred Weasley_ _:_

_Mischief Managed_

He stares for a moment, takes a deep breath, and enters.

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes isn't full, but it isn't empty, either; he doesn't think he's ever seen it completely devoid of customers in his lifetime, except when it's closed. A few heads turn as the door opens: Their owners smile and return to browsing, and James relaxes. These people are regulars, they know him – more or less. He proceeds to the back room.

George is bent over something or other, the gaping black hole on the side of his head facing toward him. Nearly seventeen years of seeing his uncle like this prepares him for it, and, unlike most people when they are first introduced to George, he doesn't flinch in the slightest, but he can't help wondering for the millionth time exactly when, where, how, by whom and with what it happened.

"What're you doing here, James?" asks George without looking up.

James blinks. "How did you know it was me?"

George smirks, his attention still focused on the whatever-it-is in front of him. "I figured you'd stop by sooner or later to see your smelly old Uncle George." He taps the little thing with his wand, nods once as blue sparks fly, and straightens up, looking his nephew in the eye.

"Why are you here?" he says again.

James swallows. "What do you mean?" he forces out, his mouth drier than he thinks it should be.

"You know exactly what I mean."

And he does. Out of all his family – except maybe Harry or Teddy or Fred – George always seems to understand him the best. Uncle George is the one to go to for a laugh to cheer you up, or help with plotting a revenge prank, or a just-for-the-heck-of-it prank. George can slip you a Wildfire Whizbang, exactly the one you need, without anyone besides Angelina suspecting anything.

Despite this slightly odd connection, James tries anyway. "Work," he says; it comes out more forceful than he intends it to.

"You and I both know there aren't enough people out there for us to need extra help today," says George firmly, as soon as the word leaves James' mouth.

"It was worth a shot."

" _James_."

He crosses the room and sits down on a stool in the corner and runs a hand through his hair. "I had to get out of there. It's too quiet, too… _worried._ "

"Are you worried?" George prods. _No_ is on the tip of his tongue. His mouth is already open, but he closes it, sighs, and opens it again.

"Yeah," he admits. "A lot. So are Lily and Al, and Mum…" James closes his eyes. "Mum's a wreck."

George sighs, too, nodding understandingly. "I thought so. She didn't look all that great when she stopped in last week." Then, obviously trying to revive the lightheartedness of the conversation, he adds slyly, "She said something about birthday present shopping."

James doesn't react. A few weeks ago, the thought of his seventeenth birthday sent excitement coursing throughout his body like electricity. Now it makes his throat tighten and leaves him wishing he could breathe.

"They really do love each other," says George, more to himself than to James. "The war made them realize… life's too short…"

James follows his gaze to see a framed photograph of what looks like two Georges standing side-by-side, except neither of them are earless. They have their arms around each other, and they're laughing. They look only sixteen or seventeen, carefree and enjoying life, the only stress on their faces from N.E.W.T.s, and not from the possibility that each time they watch someone leave, it may be the last time they see them.

Fred… his Uncle Fred… Fred Weasley the first, who was so alike and yet so different from his twin's son…

James glances at George: His uncle has suddenly aged twenty years; his eyes have lost their spark: In its absence they are lifeless, empty, cold, and so full of unexpected loneliness that it's like they're crying without any tears.

George finally averts his gaze, and although the spark is back, the sorrow, the grief, has not yet faded away. James remembers, and so does George, what Harry said at the annual memorial service: "Twenty-four years have passed… and not a day goes by where someone here today doesn't miss a loved one… or regret not having the chance to meet someone…"

Harry looked at his family when he said that, especially at Teddy, and James could have imagined it, but he thought Teddy looked at least a little less weighed down, and he himself felt like there was a smaller hole where his grandparents should be than before.

"He fought for her," says James, remembering something else his father said.

George turns to face him slowly, the tiniest of tiny smiles playing on his lips. "He fought for her," he agrees. "And he came out battered, and _broken_ , and… and bruised, and _bloody_ … but victorious."

James smiles, too, and as George returns to experimenting, he pulls on the magenta robes hanging on a hook by the door.

_-o- July 20th -o-_

They waited, and they waited, and they waited, and they waited. The three weeks have passed, but it's almost midnight, and there's no sign of Harry, Ron, or Teddy, and worry has long since abandoned them – undiluted fear has taken its place.

At a quarter to twelve, James and Albus walk into the sitting room and sit down on either side of their mother, whose wand is clutched so tightly in her hand that her knuckles are white. Her grip relaxes slightly as her sons join her on the couch; she looks from one to the other and back again, then pulls them both into a hug.

Ginny lets go of them, smiling, but her eyes hold no joy, only apprehension. "You look so much like him," she murmurs. She brushes the hair away from their foreheads, their perfect, scar-free foreheads. "You're his twin, Al, right down to the last detail. So are you, James."

_No!_ they want to scream. _I'm not! He's so much_ more _than I am, more than I'll ever be! He's_ Harry Potter _, and I'm just his son! He has the scars, he's fought the battles… He'd give up his life for his family… I couldn't do that, ever…_

As though she's reading their matching minds, Ginny shakes her head a little, that melancholy smile still stuck on her face. "I've told him this and I'll tell you," she says quietly. "The scars don't make him who he is. They're just that – scars. And for your dad, scars are an unfortunate reminder." She stares hard into their eyes. "He's stronger than the scars. _You have that strength,_ and you have the determination, and you have the heart to be anything you want to be. The only thing your dad and I want for you – the only thing we've ever wanted for you – is for you to be happy…"

Ginny trails off, and again she casts the quickest of glances to the door; and again her frail hopes are dashed as a burning sensation spreads from the back of her eyes to her heart. It's a feeling that brings a horrible vision to her eyes –

A seventeen-year-old with messy black hair is limp and lifeless in the grass at Voldemort's feet… he looks extraordinarily peaceful, as though he's asleep, but she knows if she presses a hand to his chest, there will be no steady beat, no rising and falling, and if she lifts his eyelids, the light will have left his magnificent irises… and still she calls his name, because he has to _get up_ , he has to _stop sleeping_! He can't leave her like this, he has to keep fighting, he has something to fight for now! And her heart – it's shattered around her feet, just like her world – skips a beat – it's still beating, even when she feels dead inside? – because she isn't sure if it's Harry or James or Albus, and she has to run to him, to check, to save him, but something – Neville – is holding her back, pulling her away from him… and she knows what it feels like when her heart is really broken…

Ginny blinks once and flies away from the Hogwarts grounds, her irregular breathing the only noticeable sound in the sitting room. _The wards._ She's safe here. They're all safe, as long as they're here.

_But Harry's not._

Taking deep breaths, Ginny looks at James and Albus again. _You're so strong. Like him._ It gets lost on the way to her mouth, and what comes out instead, in a stuttering whisper, lost in the mostly-dark, is, "Go to bed. Please."

And as they retreat back upstairs, she wipes her eyes; she can't stand to let them see her cry.

_-o- July 21st -o-_

When James wakes abruptly five hours later, he feels like he hasn't slept at all. Ignoring the sinking ship in his stomach and the logical voice in his brain, he tiptoes to his parents' room. The door is ajar; he peers in: nothing. He creeps down a couple of stairs and sees no one in the kitchen except for his mother. The tears running down her face and her quiet, quiet sobs turn him around and push him back into his bed, where he lay, staring at the ceiling and wishing it could make his father appear.

_He's not coming back_ , the voice of logic taunts cruelly, and James thinks someone standing next to him shouts it into his ear. _He broke his promise._

"That's not all he broke," James says aloud, and, a true testament to the statement, his voice indeed breaks. "He broke us."

_-o- July 27th -o-_

James takes Harry's last request of him on his shoulders with all the strength his mother says he has. All he can hear and see in his dreams are their voices and their faces. _You're the man of this family. Take care of them… You have that strength._

So he pays the owl that delivers the _Daily Prophet_ each morning, and helps Ginny cook meals, and sets the table. Four weeks into Harry's absence – and it feels so much, too much longer than that – he's wishing he makes Albus retrieve the paper.

_MINISTRY EMPLOYEE DIES OF_  
  
MYSTERY ILLNESS

_Marcus Castellan, 43, died suddenly last night of a yet unidentified sickness. Castellan_ _worked in the Auror Department and was admitted to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical_ _Maladies and Injuries approximately three months ago while on duty. Unspeakables from the_ _Department of Mysteries worked to determine the disease that Castellan developed, but could_ _not agree on a single affliction._

James scans much of the next small paragraph. _Castellan's symptoms included high fever… airway constriction… vomiting of mucus… One Unspeakable theorized it was a Pure-Blood that cursed Castellan with several Dark spells, trying to prevent him from passing information about Travis Fuller's followers to the other Aurors._ At the end of the article, accompanied by a family photo, is a small sentence that makes his blood boil. _The Ministry and the Daily Prophet offer their condolences to Marcus Castellan's wife, daughter, and two sons._

He nearly rips the paper in half as he hands it, fuming, to his brother. Words do nothing to conceal the fact that an innocent man lost his life doing his job and left behind a grieving family. He storms upstairs and slams his bedroom door, wanting to scream. He remembers poor little Luke Castellan, his hopeful yet doubtful blue eyes, and wonders if that's who he'll become, who he is right now – waiting in vain for a father that will never come home.

_-o- July 30th -o-_

James lets it flow over his hands, smooth as water, light as air. He doesn't put it on: That doesn't feel right. Admiring it, letting himself be awed by it, however, feels as right as having and using his two arms.

The famed Invisibility Cloak, the one his father used to use, and his father, and his father, and his father, is his now. "A gift," Harry said, grinning at his son's wide eyes, "to mark the end of your sixth year – because we both know it was a hell of a lot better than mine."

James wanted to feel bad, somehow, but Harry laughed, so he laughed, too. Right now, the cloak is all he has left of Harry, maybe for a while, maybe forever. He doesn't know if he really wants to find out.

_-o- July 31st -o-_

Ginny goes out and buys cake – just one single slice of chocolate cake, with sprinkles and glaze and ice cream and hot fudge and chocolate chips and icing. She takes it out of the packaging, transfers it to a plate, and sticks a candle in the top. All day, the flame flickers, burning the wick to a stub and melting the wax. And when the moon is the only lit companion, the flame disappears so quickly that if you blink you'll miss it, the smoke curling upward before it, too, dissolves.

_-o- August 3rd -o-_

"Please."

The whisper is so quiet, so desperate, that even James isn't sure it left his lips.

"Please, _bring him home_ ," he pleads of the white marble. He supposes it's stupid to ask a grave to keep someone safe, but what else can he do? All that's left is to beg and plead, and hope that _somehow,_ somewhere, Harry, Teddy, and Ron are still alive and in one piece, fighting to come back on the outside of a body bag.

_JAMES POTTER - LILY POTTER_

It's an odd feeling to see his and his sister's names on a grave marker. Neither of them are dead, and those aren't their birthdays. He wonders if, in ninety years or so, his grandkids will look down at his grave, and think. Just think.

It's an even odder feeling to realize that he's visiting his grandparents' grave alone for the first time. He isn't sure if he should have brought a flower or two – a lily, from the old house's garden? A petunia? A rose? – or if he should kneel, or bow, or greet them in some way. If he should thank them. But all he can think of is asking them to do something, in some way, that helps even the tiniest bit.

"Please," James says again, clutching the Invisibility Cloak tighter around him in the darkness. A cool breeze in the windless night lifts the hair at his brow, and he isn't sure if Lily and James are saying _We'll try,_ or _We're sorry._

_-o- August 4th -o-_

James opens his eyes to the dark ceiling of his bedroom. The few hours of sleep he had were filled with "I _promise_ " repeating itself, over and over, each time louder and a more brutal blow than the last.

The words continue to ring in his ears as he sits up and look out the window: The sun, which isn't even half-risen, is so canary yellow it might be made of pure gold. There isn't a cloud in the sky; all signs point to a day of good weather. James doesn't want the weather to be pleasant. He wants rain to hammer on the roof, thunder crashing into the atmosphere, lightning creating false daylight before the black clouds bring back the day's night. He wants to crawl under his covers, curl up into a ball, and stay there forever.

He really wishes today isn't his birthday.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Hermione comes over with Rose and Hugo first to help prepare for the family party, looking as much of a wreck as her sister-in-law. The five kids seclude themselves in James' room, and then, when there isn't enough room to accommodate all the cousins, a corner of the backyard that isn't hung with streamers or balloons.

In the kitchen, Ginny, her hair coming out of its hasty ponytail, insists on having no one's help baking James' cake besides slight assistance from her mother and Hermione, James' godmother.

"It looks great," says Angelina approvingly as Percy and Charlie finish hanging a _HAPPY SEVENTEENTH!_ banner across one wall of the sitting room, and beside her, Ginny nods in agreement, her expression neutral.

Charlie frowns. "Do you smell something?"

The others sniff the air, also frowning; Ginny runs into the kitchen and is met with smoke billowing from the oven. She grabs an oven mitt and yanks open the oven door, coughing as more smoke issues from the inside. She pulls out the ruined cake, tosses it onto the counter, and tumbles to her knees, sobbing.

"Ginny?" asks Hermione, entering from outside. "What happened?"

Ginny wipes her eyes, only for more tears to fall. "I can't take it anymore!" she cries. "Any of this!"

Hermione pulls her into a hug, swallowing her own tears with difficulty. "C'mon, Ginny, it's all right," she lies. "We'll fix it."

As long as she's talking about the cake, Ginny has no doubt in her mind that she's right. But if it's about the mess their husbands left them in – she thinks it'll never be fixed.

0o0o0o0o0o0

"Happy _birth_ day, dear Ja-ames, happy birthday to you!"

James forces a grin, but doesn't blow out his candles. He rubs his right wrist, where his watch should be – Harry's taken care of it for the past few months, and he has it with him, wherever he is right now.

"Go on, James," mutters Lily quietly; Albus looks nervously between the two of them. "Make a wish."

The grin drops suddenly, and James look around at all his aunts and uncles and cousins, his grandparents. They're all nodding a little, some are smiling, encouraging him to _go on, blow the candles out. Wish for something._ And maybe their peace, their ease, when his father's body might be in the hands of a Dark wizard, is what breaks the dam that's holding back all his fear, all his resentment, his anger, his frustration.

"I DON'T WANT TO MAKE A BLOODY WISH!" he yells at the top of his lungs, and some of those nearest him take a step backward. "The only thing I want to wish for is something I CAN'T – HAVE!" His throat nearly tears, and he lowers his voice to barely over a whisper. "All I want is for Dad to be back. Nothing else."

He grabs the candles out of the cake in a fist and blows them out harshly in one breath; he throws them against the wall. One of them snaps in half. James turns away from the shocked faces of his family, determinedly ignoring his mother's over-bright eyes.

Sploof – grunt.

He feels something mushy hit his back. Slowly, very slowly, he turns and sees a gold wristwatch lying in the middle of his cake. His heart skips a beat, and hardly daring to believe it, he raises his gaze higher to the front door.

Harry, Teddy, and Ron are crowded in next to the fireplace, each heavily bandaged. Harry is sporting a brilliant slash across half his face, and he and Ron are both supporting the former's godson, but to the Weasleys and the other Potters, the three of them have never looked better. With identical shrieks, Ginny, Victoire, and Hermione sprint across the room; the Aurors spread their arms and receive their wives and girlfriend with kisses and shaky laughs and tears and some more kisses. The room explodes with cries of their names and sudden movement; James, breathing very fast and hard, grins his first real grin in weeks, and leads Albus, Rose, Lily, and Hugo to their fathers, and he just barely embraces Harry before he lets go, letting Lily take his place. He opens and closes his mouth, trying to find something to say.

"I promised," says Harry. He's smiling; he kisses his daughter on top of her head and Ginny on the lips again. "And I always keep my promises."

James blinks hard, banishing the stinging at his eyes. Ginny squeezes her husband tighter, and his face tautens in pain. Releasing a quivering a breath, but unable to stop beaming, she says, "What is it this time?"

Harry grimaces and pulls up a torn patch of his robes on the back of his shoulder, revealing a deep scarlet, bleeding burn.

"Ever heard of a chimera?" he asks. Hermione's jaw drops at the same time as Albus'. Harry smiles again, this time humorlessly. "Yeah… a chimera wanted to play tag, and I just _couldn't_ refuse. One of the Pure-Bloods took him out in the end. It was hurting them more than helping."

Always business, Audrey hurries over and tries to inspect the wound, but Harry slaps her hand away. "Trust me," he says, "there's nothing you can do. Everyone's already tried."

Glaring, she draws her hand back, but hugs him quickly.

"Harry – Ron – what on earth happened?" says Arthur over all the noise, which instantly dies away.

Harry glances at Ron and the still-dazed Teddy; Ron raises his eyebrows. "Your call, mate," he says, grinning.

Harry smirks in return, flexing his shoulder. He takes a deep breath. "They knew we were coming," he says, paying no mind to the gasps of surprise. "About halfway through the hike. There were a few stray spells. When we got there…" He ruffles the hair on the back of his head. "We had to set up somewhat of a field hospital. It was a real battle. It…" He swallows, and Teddy and Ron bow their heads. "It was bad. They were using Dark, Dark stuff, some that we didn't even know existed. There… total…"

Ron takes over, rubbing his bandaged hand. In a toneless voice, he says, "There isn't one of us who wasn't injured. A lot of people are worse off than us – a few are still touch-and-go. They'll be moved into St. Mungo's soon." He sighs. "Nine deaths."

It's only the kids that react: Louis bites his lip; Lucy squeezes her dad's middle, who doesn't look too great himself.

Harry picks up, slightly more cheerful, "We got them all, though, every last one of them. Fuller's under constant surveillance – his trial's on Sunday and he should be in Azkaban by Monday evening."

A few of them whoop and clap and Ginny kisses him again. James feels a weight lift from him – his shoulders, his stomach, his heart – all of it. There's nothing to worry about anymore except for the homework he's been neglecting. They're safe. His grin widens and he gives his father another hug. Everyone has resumed their smiling and hugging when Teddy clears his throat for attention.

"Victoire," Teddy says, taking her hands in his; he sways on his feet and Victoire allows him to lean on her a bit. "We've been best friends your whole life" – James admires his choice of words – "and then something more. Your family is my family in every possible sense…" Teddy sinks to one knee, and a frozen silence falls over the sitting room like a sheet. "… but I want to make it official." He reaches into his pocket and withdraws a fist, in which is clenched the velvet box. Victoire inhales sharply and her hands fly to her mouth. "Victoire Weasley, I love you and want to be with you for the rest of my life. Will you marry me?" He snaps open the box.

Her heart pounding out an erratic rhythm, her eyes shining, Victoire lowers her shaking fingers and whispers, "Yes."

Teddy grins but makes no movement. "I'm sorry, Torie, what was that?"

" _Yes_ , you prick!" Victoire screams. "Yes, Teddy, _yes_!"

Teddy slides the ring onto her hand, and, his legs still wobbly, knocks her over as he tries to stand. They laugh and kiss as Fleur pulls them into hugs, and Molly squeezes her granddaughter breathless, and Harry slaps his godson on the back, winking.

"We'll go to Venice for the honeymoon!" Teddy shouts, and Victoire beams even wider as the Weasleys move to hug and congratulate them, and some of them are laughing and crying with relief. And although they're taking care to avoid Teddy's bandaged _sectumsempra_ scar, and Harry has a limp and can barely move his arm, and Ron can't see out of an eye and his hand is useless, they're all together and they're _alive_ , and for once that's all that matters.

They're stronger than the scars. And despite the fact that this past month is full of scars, they'll heal, and then all the scars will be nothing more than memories.

So, sandwiched between his promise-keeping father and his newly engaged god-brother, seventeen-year-old James Potter grins, because at the moment, he's got everything figured out.

0o0o0o0o0o0

A/N: I started this at the beginning of December and finished at the end of March, if that's any indication to how hard I worked on this. Hope you liked it. If you did, review. If you didn't, still review, and tell me what you didn't like. Thanks for reading!

~ whisperedtouches

Seperate disclaimer: The character Luke Castellan belongs to Rick Riordan and affiliates. The surname 'Castellan' belongs to Rick Riordan and affiliates. The surname 'di Angelo' belongs to Rick Riordan and affiliates. I am not Rick Riordan or his affiliates.


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